


Outside Looking In

by wyntera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, To Ashes Fanzine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: These are the three pieces I wrote for To Ashes: A McHanzo Fanzine. Three little peeks into Hanzo and Jesse's relationship, as seen by those that love them.





	1. Outside Looking In: Pharah

“Who is that?”

Fareeha looks over her shoulder at Jesse’s words, easily spotting the newcomer in question. Dark hair pulled tight atop his head, odd dated clothes, a tattoo spiraling down one arm that she hates to admit is rather impressive. He stands close to their resident ninja, trying his best to look stoic while he is introduced to the gathered agents. 

“Must be Genji’s brother,” she responds, voice flat with annoyance. Of all the new recruits, this is the one she is least enthusiastic to meet. For her, no amount of skill should excuse his past deeds. Genji’s insistence on forgiveness is beyond her. But she is not the Commander and Winston is willing to give him a shot. “An archer. How quaint. Next recruit will have a sack of pebbles and a slingshot--Jesse?”

She knows that look. Jesse’s eyes are doing a slow once-over of Genji’s brother, lingering on the parts he likes. 

His eyes are doing a lot of lingering.

“Oh. Oh no.” Fareeha side-steps and breaks his line of sight. “Jesse, no, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asks, frowning at her in confusion.

“You know exactly what.”

Jesse seems to be ignoring her, more interested in checking his teeth in the reflection of her armor. He sweeps his hat off to pat down his hair, then thinks better of it, messes it up again and replaces the hat. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with giving a good first impression.”

“We have to work with him.”

“Hopefully one-on-one.”

“Genji will kill you,” Fareeha states. “You remember him, right? Cyborg ninja? Prone to stabbing?”

“Always wanted a brother-in-law.”

“They are both trained assassins. If they take offense--”

“You’re over-reacting. ‘Sides, Genji said we should try and make nice, right?” He tips his hat down an inch purely for effect and shoots her a wild grin. “Watch and learn.”

“It’s your funeral,” she mutters and moves to follow.

Lena is just finishing up her welcome spiel, bouncing from one foot to the other while raving about how great it is to have a sniper on the team. A little too enthusiastic in Fareeha’s opinion; judging from the way his eyes keep seeking out the exits she doubts this guy will still be around by the end of the month. The sound of Fareeha’s armor and Jesse’s spurs as they approach draws the attention of the little group and Lena steps aside, gesturing to the two of them. “Here’s more of the team! This here is Fareeha Amari, call sign Pharah. And this is--”

“The name’s McCree,” Jesse says, a touch too eager for simple introductions. He offers a hand out to shake. “But you can call me Jesse. You must be Genji’s brother?”

The man hardly gives Fareeha a glance before settling on Jesse, taking Jesse’s hand with his own. “Yes. Shimada Hanzo.”

“Hanzo,” Jesse repeats, savoring the name on his tongue. He nods his head at the weapon slung across Hanzo’s back. “Genji never mentioned you were an archer.”

Next to Hanzo, Genji quirks his head. “Yes I did--”

“Bet you’re pretty handy with that bow. That kind of skill, you have to be real good with your hands. Ain’t that right?”

The line is subtle but the tone is not, and Fareeha briefly imagines Jesse with shovel in hand digging his own grave. But, much to everyone’s mutual shock, he is not immediately struck down by sharp words or an arrow to the throat. No, Hanzo tilts his head just slightly and a ghost of a smile plays along his lips. “I am handy with a lot of things,” Hanzo replies.

Jesse’s brows shoot up his forehead in surprise. “Is that right?” he asks.

“That is right.” Hanzo looks up at the hat on top of Jesse’s head then his eyes do a slow pan down to Jesse’s belt buckle. They stay there a second too long to be appropriate. “And what are you? Some sort of cowboy?”

“Sure am, darlin’. Fastest draw in the West.”

Hanzo outright smirks, gaze locked with Jesse’s. “Is that the sort of thing you should be bragging about?”

A sly grin stretches across Jesse’s face and he drawls, “Is your aim as good as that silver tongue of yours?”

“Perhaps I could show you just how good I am,” Hanzo murmurs back.

They are still clasping hands. Fareeha thinks they might have forgotten there are other people in the room. She clears her throat and interjects forcefully, “Good to have you on the team, Shimada.”

Hanzo and Jesse let go simultaneously and straighten, having been leaning toward each other subconsciously. “Thank you, Miss Amari,” Hanzo says, inclining his head politely toward her. “I look forward to working with all of you.”

“The Watchpoint’s rather big,” Jesse says, sweeping his hat off his head and holding it over his chest. “Reckon it’d be easy to lose your way. Allow me to give you the grand tour?”

Genji shakes his head. “I was going to show him later--”

“Yes, that would be most appreciated,” Hanzo blurts, cutting his brother off. They somehow share silent communication through Genji’s visor and Hanzo flushes pink. “As you say, the Watchpoint is expansive. It would be wise to know the layout thoroughly. If it is not too much trouble?”

“Ain’t no trouble at all.” Jesse sweeps his arm out and steps aside so Hanzo can join him. “Maybe after we can discuss the finer points of marksmanship. I know a quiet little spot.”

“I can bring a bottle of sake.”

They leave without so much as a backwards glance, Jesse flipping his hat back in place, hand hovering at the small of Hanzo’s back.

“That was unexpected,” Lena says, Genji chuckling beside her.

Fareeha watches them go with a sigh. Leave it to McCree to find a kindred spirit in a man like that. It is a dangerous game to start with another agent. Still, there is no denying the matching spark she saw in Hanzo’s eyes. She smirks. “I think things just got interesting.”


	2. Outside Looking In: Torbjörn

Torbjörn’s workshop is his sacred domain -- a room full of sharp tools, dangerous chemicals, and a plethora of explosives. Most agents do not dare venture inside for fear of losing limbs or, more likely, invoking the wrath of the engineer. Torbjörn has brought agents to their knees with the threat of his rivet gun and the might of his words. He does not suffer fools, especially not in his workshop.

He does make exceptions for relationship advice.

“It ain’t like he told me I can’t go,” McCree is saying, the Southwestern twang loud over the steady strikes of Torbjörn’s hammer. “He ain’t controllin’ or nothin’ like that. But it don’t feel right going out on the town with him gone on mission. And a bunch of young'uns out to have fun don’t need me to be their fifth wheel.”

Torbjörn grunts to acknowledge he is listening even as he scrutinizes the crooked metal on his anvil. The sharp steel will be a vast improvement over Rutledge’s meathook if he can just get the man to accept his superior craftsmanship.

“It’s just, that used to be me, you know?” He can hear McCree fiddling with something on his workbench. The cowboy can never keep his hands to himself. Probably how he lost that arm in the first place. “Out there drinking, gambling, raisin’ hell. Causing trouble. Breaking hearts.” McCree laughs at that, barely there then gone again. 

Water spits and hisses in its bucket where Torbjörn douses the hook to flash-cool, then he closes the iron door to the forge and puts away his tools. This conversation might require his full attention. And a lager. “I hear ya,” he says, going to the refrigerator he keeps in the workshop for just such an occasion. “When I was young and foolish, I had a lass in every port of call.”

McCree blinks at him in obvious surprise, then breaks out into a sly grin. “Naw. You?”

Torbjörn chuckles, pouring a healthy pint from his personal keg. “We had wild times in the Ironclad Guild. People always underestimate the engineers. I could have put you young punks to shame.” Two frosted steins are set on the workbench between them, filled to the brim with golden liquid. McCree accepts one with a silent nod. “But then, I started seeing my sweet älskling.”

The smirk fades from McCree’s face. “And she put an end to all that?”

“What? No!” Torbjörn full on laughs at that, surprising the cowboy. “Not a soul alive could outdrink min älskade! How do you think we met?”

“But you don’t do that anymore. You never go out.”

“Things change. That life loses its appeal.”

McCree sighs, looking away. A wistful note clings to his voice. “Just never thought I’d be hanging up my hat on that life.”

While taking a long draw from his beer, Torbjörn considers the man across from him. He has known Jesse McCree for over a decade. Sometimes he forgets that McCree is no longer the unruly young man that joined Blackwatch all those years ago. His eldest boy takes after him, brash and wild like spitfire. He hopes that one day he will grow into someone like this McCree. Not that he would ever say so.

Torbjörn sets down his glass with a resounding thud. “How many nights would you say you’ve spent propping up a bar?”

Clearly not expecting the question, McCree fumbles. “More than I can count?”

“How many of those nights were you drinking alone?”

McCree stares a moment. “More than I can count.”

“And you want more nights like that?” Torbjörn asks, rhetorical. McCree shakes his head anyway. “You are right; it is the end of that life. Means the end of going to bars alone. The end of having no one see you off on your next mission. The end of privacy, unfortunately.”

“The end of solo showers,” McCree adds, lips curling upward, warming to the subject. “The end of massaging your own sore muscles after a fight.”

“The end of doing laundry by yourself.”

“Hanzo is awful at laundry.”

Fair enough. “The end of folding it by yourself, then.”

“The end of making dinner for one,” McCree continues, unprompted, soft around the edges. “The end of having no one to talk to after a long day. The end of sleeping with your arms empty at night. The end of wandering, not knowing where home is. The end of waking up alone.”

Damn the boy, Torbjörn might be getting choked up. McCree is no better. He huffs an embarrassed little laugh at the display of emotions, then smiles wide at Torbjörn. Lifting his stein, McCree says, “To endings.”

“Till ändelser.” They toast and drink, the lager crisp and fizzy on Torbjörn’s tongue. McCree screws up his face at the flavor, so different from his preferred whiskey. He cannot fault the boy for his tastes; at least he refuses to drink the swill Morrison tries to force on them.

Over McCree’s shoulder the door to the workshop pulls open and a familiar archer steps through, curious eyes seeking out the American. As soon as Hanzo sets his sights on McCree his tight shoulders seem to relax. “There you are.”

The effect of the words on McCree is instantaneous. His eyes light up like embers and he twists like a flame seeking oxygen. “Hanzo! You’re back early!”

“The mission took less time than expected,” Hanzo explains, stepping closer and nodding to Torbjörn in greeting. “I thought we could meet the others? Genji said they were at the bar in town.”

McCree glances back, not wanting to be rude, but Torbjörn waves him off. “Go on, get out of here. Can’t get any work done with you around, anyway.”

“Thanks, Torbs.” He is drawn away by Hanzo’s hand in his, the two already chattering as they head out the door. Torbjörn smiles and shakes his head, sipping his beer. Instead of getting back to work, he pulls out his phone. His wife will love to hear about this.


	3. Outside Looking In: Genji

It is amazing how quickly Overwatch can throw together an impromptu party. A few phone calls, a quick trip into town for supplies, and one impressively large beach bonfire courtesy of Jamison Fawkes and they were in business. The real miracle was that so many agents were on-base when the happy news came in. All this for the couple huddled close to the fire sharing a celebratory bottle of champagne between them.

“Okay, come on, tell us!” Mei says, hands clasping a stick with a marshmallow on the end. “The story keeps changing. I want to hear from the source. How did he propose?”

Across the flames from her, Jesse knocks shoulders with Hanzo. “Go on, darlin’, it’s your story to tell.”

Hanzo grins, the center of attention and for once relishing it. “Well, as you know, we were assigned a routine surveillance mission in Hanamura…”

The story is one Genji has already heard twice today, first in segmented bursts over the comms and then again from an excited Hanzo once they were back on base. Each retelling has gotten a little more dramatic as Hanzo refines the tale for optimal reaction from his audience. Normally he would call his brother out for the embellishments, but not this time. After all, how often does one’s boyfriend propose mid-battle?

Besides, Hanzo has not stopped smiling since. It is a good look on him.

Standing back and watching Hanzo launch into the story yet again, Genji thinks Hanzo has probably smiled more in the past two years than he has in his entire life. Even as a child he was serious to a fault, with what little joy he had always tempered by the growing weight of responsibility and expectation. Genji cannot imagine Hanzo’s years in exile were pleasant ones. When he arrived after the recall ready to answer the challenge Genji had issued, Hanzo was just as distant and prickly as ever. With a heavy heart Genji had resigned himself to watching his brother eventually tire of this new life and leave once again.

Then Jesse McCree strolled up and threw all those assumptions right off the Watchpoint cliffs.

“Things had been quiet and Jesse opened a private channel with me on the comms.” Hanzo’s comment earns a chorus of noises not unlike a gaggle of teenagers listening to juicy gossip. Even in the low light Genji can see Hanzo’s cheeks turn pink.

Genji had hoped that they would eventually become good teammates, if not friends; he never would have guessed they could be more. But from their very first meeting Hanzo and Jesse were drawn to each other, as was apparent to everyone within hearing distance. Genji had been unaware his brother was an incorrigible flirt. It is possible Hanzo was always like this, but Genji likes to think that McCree is the one that brought it out in him. There is nothing more entertaining and unsettling than watching his stoic brother match McCree’s every taunt and tease. And match him he did, friendly banter and suggestive comments intermingling seamlessly as conversations flowed and the hours slipped by.

“He was acting strangely nostalgic, bringing up stories from old missions...”

Despite their obvious interest, it took five months of wearing down stubborn pride and smothering lingering doubts for them to finally get together. With that time came more words Genji would never have associated with Hanzo: sweet, affectionate, thoughtful. He doted on the cowboy like the man could bring the sun up with his laughter, practically basked in the warmth of his smile.

“The Talon agents seemed to come out of nowhere.”

And sure, Genji knows the couple has had their trials. Cold nights when he would find Hanzo wandering the halls alone, his flame dulled to practically nothing at all. In those quiet moments thoughts of the past seemed to steal the very air from his lungs. But more often McCree was there to see Hanzo through to the soft light of morning. Always there to bring that fire back to life.

“That ain’t what happened, now you’re exaggerating,” Jesse retorts, bringing Genji’s attention back to the story.

“You leapt!” Hanzo exclaims, throwing his arms out to demonstrate. “Like a bird! I thought for sure you were jumping to your death.”

The others laugh and Jesse shakes his head. “It wasn’t even ten feet. I had to get to you, didn’t I?”

Hanzo ignores Jesse’s commentary and continues his tale, describing the explosion McCree escaped and how he swooped in to fight the swarm of Talon operatives attacking Hanzo. He insists he was not surrounded, nor did McCree rescue him, and McCree obediently keeps quiet as to whether or not either of those things are true. But Genji cannot hold his tongue when Hanzo starts poetically describing the cherry blossoms drifting through the smoke. “Quit stalling,” Genji calls out, his bare face smirking at the two men. “Get to the good part, brother.”

Grin returning, Hanzo does. “When it was over, we stood together on the battlefield as we always have. I thought to go find the others but Jesse was staring at me. I asked him what was wrong, and he said that was a close one. I tried to brush it off but he took my hand.” Hanzo turns and looks at McCree, love lighting him up from the inside. “He said, ‘We’ve been through a hell of a lot, you and me. I’m lucky I found you in the first place. And a smart man knows when to press his luck.’ And he dropped to one knee and said, ‘I figure, getting dealt a hand that good, I’d better bet for life. What do you say? Take a gamble on this old cowboy?’”

Some agents gasp. Others coo softly. Mei drowns them all out with her happy squeal. “And you said yes!”

McCree laughs and pulls Hanzo close, surprise coloring his words. “Is that what I said?”

Hanzo’s brows furrow. “You mean you do not remember?”

“Darlin’, I was so nervous I’m surprised I strung six words together.” The confession knocks a laugh out of Hanzo and he brings his hand up to cup McCree’s face, drawing him down into a passionate kiss. It gets the whole group cheering, Genji letting loose a wolf whistle at the happy couple. He always did want a brother-in-law.

The gold ring on Hanzo’s finger catches the light from the fire. Through the embers drifting up toward the sky, Hanzo’s smile glows even brighter.


End file.
